The Geraldine's Cloak

    I will not heed the message which you bring:
        That lovely lady gave her cloak to us,
    And who'd believe she'd give away a thing
        And ask it back again?, 'tis fabulous!

    My parting from her gave me cause to grieve,
        For she, that I was poor, had misty eyes;
    If some Archangel blew it I'd believe
        The message which you bring, not otherwise.

    I do not say this just to make a joke,
        Nor would I rob her, but, 'tis verity,
    So long as I could swagger in a cloak
        I never cared how bad my luck could be.

    That lady, all perfection, knows the sting
        Of poverty was thrust deep into me:
    I don't believe she'd do this kind of thing,
        Or treat a poet less than daintily.

James Stephens

James Stephens was an Irish novelist and poet, whose literary output includes many retellings of Irish myths and fairy tales. He was born on February 9, 1880, and passed away on December 26, 1950. Notable works include 'The Crock of Gold' and 'The Demi-Gods'. Stephens also wrote several well-regarded collections of poetry, including 'The Hill of Vision' and 'Insurrections'. His work is characterized by a blend of myth, fantasy, and modernism, capturing the spirit and culture of Ireland.

James Stephens

Check (The Adventures Of Seumas Beg)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

Westland Row (The Rocky Road To Dublin)

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

Mary Ruane

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

Owen O'Néill

James Stephens, Simple Poetry

English

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Geraldine

Just as the sun went bathing in a sea
Of liquid amber, flecked with caps of gold, I told
The sweet old story unto Geraldine, my Queen,
Who long hath made the whole of life for me.

But though she smiled upon me yesterday,
And heaven seemed near because she was so kind, I find
She held me but as one of many men; and then
Dismissed me in her proud, yet gracious way.

Ah, Geraldine! my lady of sweet arts,
There waits for thee not very far away, a day
When thou shalt waken out of tranquil sleep, and weep
Such bitter tears as spring from anguished hearts.

Thou shalt look in thy mirror with dismay
To find upon each feature of thy face, the trace
Of time, the lover who shall follow thee, and see
Thy rare youth slipping suddenly away.

So self-ass...

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Geoffrey Keating

    O woman full of wiliness!
        Although for love of me you pine,
    Withhold your hand adventurous,
        It holdeth nothing holding mine.

    Look on my head, how it is grey!
        My body's weakness doth appear;
    My blood is chill and thin; my day
        Is done, and there is nothing here.

    Do not call me a foolish man,
        Nor lean your lovely cheek to mine
    O slender witch, our bodies can
        Not mingle now, nor any time.

    So take your mouth from mine, your hand
        From mine, ah, take your lips away!
    Lest heat to will should ripen, and
        All this be grave that had been gay.

    It is this curl, a silken nest,
        And this grey eye bright as the dew,
    And this round, lo...

James Stephens

Nancy Walsh

    It is not on her gown
    She fears to tread;
    It is her hair
    Which tumbles down
    And strays
    About her ways
    That she must care.

    And she lives nigh this place:
    The dead would rise
    If they could see her face;
    The dead would rise
    Only to hear her sing:
    But death is blind, and gives not ear nor eye
    To anything.

    We would leave behind
    Both wife and child,
    And house and home;
    And wander blind,
    And wander thus,
    And ever roam,
    If she would come to us
    In Erris.

    Softly she said to me,
    Be patient till the night comes,
    And I will go with thee.

James Stephens

The Weavers

    Many a time your father gave me aid
        When I was down, and now I'm down again:
    You mustn't take it bad or be dismayed
        Because I say, young folk should help old men
        And 'tis their duty to do that: Amen!

    I have no cows, no sheep, no cloak, no hat,
        For those who used to give me things are dead
    And my luck died with them: because of that
        I won't pay you a farthing, but, instead,
        I'll owe you till the dead rise from the dead.

    A farthing! that's not much, but, all the same,
        I haven't half a farthing, for that grand
    Big idiot called Fortune rigged the game
        And gave me nothing, while she filled the hand
        Of every stingy devil in the land.

    You weave, and I: you...

James Stephens

The Disappointment.

"Ah, where can he linger?" said Doll, with a sigh,
As bearing her milk-burthen home:
"Since he's broken his vow, near an hour has gone by,
So fair as he promis'd to come."
-She'd fain had him notice the loudly-clapt gate,
And fain call'd him up to her song;
But while her stretch'd shade prov'd the omen too late,
Heavy-hearted she mutter'd along.

She look'd and she listen'd, and sigh follow'd sigh,
And jealous thoughts troubled her head;
The skirts of the pasture were losing the eye,
As eve her last finishing spread;
And hope, so endearing, was topmost to see,
As 'tween-light was cheating the view,
Every thing at a distance--a bush, or a tree,
Her love's pleasing picture it drew.

The pasture-gate creak'd, pit-a-pat her heart went,
Fond thrillin...

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The Lady Maud.

I sit in the cloud and the darkness
Where I lost you, peerless one;
Your bright face shines upon fairer lands,
Like the dawning of the sun,
And what to you is the rustic youth,
You sometimes smiled upon.

You have roamed through mighty cities,
By the Orient's gleaming sea,
Down the glittering streets of Venice,
And soft-skied Araby:
Life to you has been an anthem,
But a solemn dirge to me.

For everywhere, by Rome's bright hills,
Or by the silvery Rhine,
You win all hearts to you, where'er
Your glancing tresses shine;
But, darling, the love of the many,
Is not a love like mine.

Last night I heard your voice in my dreams,
I woke with a joyous thrill
To hear but the half-awakened birds,
For the dark dawn lingered still,

Marietta Holley